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Table of contents
AMORY, SON OF BEATRICE
SPIRES AND GARGOYLES
THE EGOTIST CONSIDERS
NARCISSUS OFF DUTY
THE DEBUTANTE
EXPERIMENTS IN CONVALESCENCE
YOUNG IRONY
THE SUPERCILIOUS SACRIFICE
THE EGOTIST BECOMES A PERSONAGE

Eleanor would pitch, probably southpaw. Rosalind was outfield, wonderful 

hitter, Clara first base, maybe. Wonder what Humbird's body looked like 

now. If he himself hadn't been bayonet instructor he'd have gone up 

to line three months sooner, probably been killed. Where's the darned 

bell-- 

 

The street numbers of Riverside Drive were obscured by the mist and 

dripping trees from anything but the swiftest scrutiny, but Amory had 

finally caught sight of one--One Hundred and Twenty-seventh Street. He 

got off and with no distinct destination followed a winding, descending 

sidewalk and came out facing the river, in particular a long pier and 

a partitioned litter of shipyards for miniature craft: small launches, 

canoes, rowboats, and catboats. He turned northward and followed the 

shore, jumped a small wire fence and found himself in a great disorderly 

yard adjoining a dock. The hulls of many boats in various stages of 

repair were around him; he smelled sawdust and paint and the scarcely 

distinguishable fiat odor of the Hudson. A man approached through the 

heavy gloom. 

 

"Hello," said Amory. 

 

"Got a pass?" 

 

"No. Is this private?" 

 

"This is the Hudson River Sporting and Yacht Club." 

 

"Oh! I didn't know. I'm just resting." 

 

"Well--" began the man dubiously. 

 

"I'll go if you want me to." 

 

The man made non-committal noises in his throat and passed on. Amory 

seated himself on an overturned boat and leaned forward thoughtfully 

until his chin rested in his hand. 

 

"Misfortune is liable to make me a damn bad man," he said slowly. 

 

***** 

 

IN THE DROOPING HOURS 

 

While the rain drizzled on Amory looked futilely back at the stream of 

his life, all its glitterings and dirty shallows. To begin with, he was 

still afraid--not physically afraid any more, but afraid of people and 

prejudice and misery and monotony. Yet, deep in his bitter heart, he 

wondered if he was after all worse than this man or the next. He knew 

that he could sophisticate himself finally into saying that his own 

weakness was just the result of circumstances and environment; that 


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